The Faceless Dame
by RileyTheFool
Summary: No matter how hard you try to run, the past has a funny way of catching up to you. An original story set in the Baccano! universe. Re-Uploaded due to important edits made


A Baccano Story

Chapter 1: Angels and Demons

Bruno

1932, New York

"Mr. Lynch?"

A timid voice stirred me awake from my half asleep state, away from the melancholic half-dreams in which my disturbed mind had been indulging itself. The kind you only get when you're depressed or drunk, though truth be told I wasn't quite sure which I was at this point. Really though, only one was possible for me….

"Mr. Lynch?"

The voice rang out again, prompting me to remove my face from its comfortable perch on my right arm. I adjusted myself in my chair and shifted my soporific gaze to the person who had roused me from my state of limbo. Before me stood a woman, wringing her hands in a nervous fashion. She was thin, pale, and delicate looking. She wore a shimmery silver dress that clung to her like a second skin but she seemed unwanting of the attention that kind of dress attracted. Paradoxical, I noted. She had a head of short silvery hair that reached past her ears, but to my best observations she seemed to be nowhere near the age for that kind of color. I suppose that many would find her beautiful. There was definitely more to this dame than met the eye, though my eye had met plenty already.

I tipped my dark fedora towards her with my right hand, my left still clutching the half finished bottle of giggle juice. At the moment, however, I didn't feel like laughing.

"That would be me," I answered. She visibly relaxed a little, letting out a small breath. "You need somethin'?"

She tensed again ever so slightly, avoiding my gaze. "I'm…. not exactly sure… I was hoping that you would know..." she trailed off.

I leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. What did she mean she hoped I would know? I had just met her less than three minutes ago.

At least, I think I did.

"Oh? Why don't you have a seat then."

She swiftly thanked me and took a seat across from me at the table I'd commandeered. She looked around nervously at the rest of the establishment she had walked into, perhaps getting her first good look at the dimly lit room filling her vision. A literal hole in the wall for the vermin of the city to congregate.

A speakeasy.

My speakeasy. My purgatory

The Faceless Dame.

I took a swig from the bottle in my left hand, savoring the short lived haze that covered my mind like the last act of a tragedy. Putting it down, I noticed the dame had finished her survey of the establishment and was now looking at me with expectant eyes. I rubbed the ring on my left hand out of habit as I studied the bottle in front of me.

I decided to break the silence. "You got a name, doll?"

She paused and looked down at the table, as if debating how to answer my question.

"I'm…. not sure," she answered hesitantly.

I was taken aback. "You don't know your own name?" I asked incredulously.

She nodded, her head bobbing in a quick motion like a small bird. I leaned back in my chair, thoroughly confused and going for another drink.

"I don't remember a lot of things…." She said in a quiet voice.

"Are you just forgetful, or do you genuinely not know?"

"I don't remember anything before today."

She then went on to tell me how she had woken up in a nearby alley with her mind one big blank. Her only clues about herself were the dress she was wearing and a handbag-empty except for a note telling her to come here. At my request, she produced the note, slightly crumpled, and handed it to me. The handwriting was familiar to me, a faint memory almost out of reach, raising more questions than answers.

Angela Miller

Find The Faceless Dame

Ask for Mr. Lynch

He will help you

-S

I handed the note back to her. "Sorry doll, I don't know what this means. I don't know what you need help with." Her head lowered. I continued, "But, I was able to figure somethin' out."

"What is it?" she asked with renewed vigor, at the promise of any kind of answer.

"Your name: Angela Miller."

She looked disappointed, like I'd promised gold but gave her bronze instead. "I thought that too, but it doesn't feel right…"

I shrugged, "Well it's the best we've got."

"I suppose it is..."

We sat in silence for a bit, the air ringing with the sounds of debauchery.

"I just realized somethin'" I said, again breaking the silence.

"What is it?"

"We got so caught up in the mystery that we forgot to properly introduce ourselves. I'm Bruno. Bruno Lynch. The owner of this fine establishment," I said, tipping my hat.

She formed a small smile and made her greeting in return. "My name's Angela Miller, I suppose…"

We spent the rest of the night at this table, trying to make small talk over a bottle of cheap booze. It was the best I could offer, but she didn't seem to mind. Without the focus on her lack of a past, I was able to make her laugh once or twice, a beautiful musical sound that awoke both feelings of happiness and loss within me-painful memories, but ones I didn't want to forget.

As the night gradually wound down to a close, people began heading home. After saying goodnight to the closing staff, I noticed that there was still one patron remaining.

"You need something Ms. Miller?"

"I don't have a place to go…"

Of course she didn't. I turned to the staff. "Any volunteers?"

I was met with a resounding no. Most of them had very little space already, so fitting in another body would be impossible.

I turned to Angela, "I guess that settles it then. You'll stay with me until we can find somewhere for you to live."

Her eyes widened, clearly surprised. "What?"

I waved my hand in a dismissive manner. "It won't be a problem, trust me."

"...Alright then," she said hesitantly.

After a final round of goodbyes, we stepped out into the night from the back entrance. The cool night air felt nice after hours in the stuffy speakeasy in the back of an antique shop surrounded by drunkards and other undesirables.

I pointed towards a nearby alley. "My apartment's that way. It's not too far." She nodded, acknowledging my statement. With that I set off in silence, Angela following closely behind. We made it about halfway through the alley before I stopped, causing her to stop as well.

Backlit by a lone street lamp was a man. He wore an unkempt jacket and I could smell the waft of alcohol from the 10 feet that separated us. Not great, but nothing I hadn't handled before.

I put an arm in front of Angela. "I'll handle this. Stay back." She nodded, clearly a bit frightened.

I turned back to the man in our path. "You need somethin' sir?" The man only laughed, a deranged cackle that sent chills down my spine. He reached into his jacket and produced something that gleamed in the street light.

A revolver.

I heard a gasp from behind me. I only smiled and shook my head. "Pal, I don't know what you're trying to pull, but you won't get anything by pointing a gun at me." I returned my gaze to him, still smiling. "I would suggest putting that gun down before something happens and, believe me, you won't like it when it does."

"That's what you think," he retorted, his bloodshot eyes peering hungrily past me.

I heard a muffled scream from behind me. I whipped around to see a second man had crept up behind us and pressed a cloth against Angela's face. Her struggles became weaker. I heard a sharp click from behind me, and I felt a cold metal circle press against my back.

Two deafening thunderclaps. A sharp burning pain in my back. A pain I knew all too well.

I collapsed to my knees, feeling my strength slowly ebbing. I was pushed harshly to the ground, falling into an expanding puddle of my own blood. I watched Angela's eyes widen in shock before closing.

The two assailants laughed into the night. A deranged cackle. It would have sent chills down my spine again if my spine wasn't in pieces.

I began to laugh along with them.

The gunman pointed his gun at me again, this time towards my head.

A grim smile spread across my bloodied face.


End file.
